r. No more waiting for that vague "something to happen."
Nothing could happen now. He was far away across the seas, and she must
just go back to her old monotonous life, as if it had never been any
different--as if she had never seen his face nor heard his voice, never
known the blessing of his companionship, friendship, love, whatever it
was, or whatever he had meant it to be. No, he could not have loved her;
or to have gone away would have been--she did not realize whether right
or wrong--but simply impossible.

Once, wearying herself with helpless conjectures, a thought, sudden and
sharp as steel, went through her heart. He was nearly thirty; few lives
are thus long without some sort of love in them. Perhaps he was already
bound to some other woman, and finding himself drifting into too pleasant
intimacy with herself, wished to draw back in time. Such things had
happened, sometimes almost blamelessly, though most miserably to all
parties. But with him it was not likely to happen. He was too clear
sighted, strong, and honest. He would never "drift" into anything. What
he did would be done with a calm deliberate will, incapable of the
slightest deception either toward others or himself. Besides, he had at
different times told her the whole story of his life, and there was no
love in it; only work, hard work, poverty, courage, and endurance, like
her own.

"No, he could never have deceived me, neither me nor any one else," she
often said to herself, almost joyfully, though the tears were running
down. "What ever it was, it was not that. I am glad--glad. I had far
rather believe he never loved me than that he had been false to another
woman for my sake. And I believe in him still; I shall always believe in
him. He is perfectly good, perfectly true. And so it does not much
matter about me."

I am afraid those young ladies who like plenty of lovers, who expect to
be adored, and are vexed when they are not adored, and most nobly
indignant when forsaken, will think very meanly of my poor Fortune
Williams. They may console themselves by thinking she was not a young
lady at all--only a woman. Such women are not too common, but they exist
occasionally. And they bear their cross and dree their weird (i.e.,
endure); but their lot, at any rate, only concerns themselves, and has
one advantage, that it in no way injures the happiness of other people.

Humble as she was, she had her pride. If she wept, it was